


The Knights of Valor - They Were not Ready

by The_Ubisoft_Gamer



Series: For Honor - The Unspoken Warriors of Fear [1]
Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Apollyon, Depression, F/F, F/M, Feint Hearted, First time murder, Gen, Gore, Hervis Daubeny - Freeform, Holden Cross - Freeform, M/M, Mercy - Freeform, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Second Guesses, Suicide, Tragedy, regretful, roamnce, stone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ubisoft_Gamer/pseuds/The_Ubisoft_Gamer
Summary: Short stories of each knight hero (excluding Vortiger aka Black Prior), having second thoughts about the War of Apollyon. They each have their regrets and deal with night terrors, PTSD, or some other type of negative effect. They are all ill fitted and are not ready to commit murder nor had they ever thought they would and it puts them in very terrible places.[Male Warden, Peacekeeper, Lawbringer, Male Conqueror, Male Gladiator, Centurion]This is my first official hand of posting I'd say "light" gore and heavy dark themes of depression, anxiety, and suicide. Seeing as I suffer from those two things I don't imagine it would be too difficult. I do hope you enjoy this and I will most definitely try my best. I write short stories best and so I apologize that the length of these are not satisfying but I do try to write a bit longer if it's possible. Don't wanna always bore you to death with detail as much as I'd like too.Tumblr: https://theubisoftgamer.tumblr.com/





	1. Warden's Downfall

It was the first time he’s ever killed. He almost vomited inside his helm as he struggled to pull it off his head. His blood stained sword on the muddied ground in front of the decapitated corpse. He’s never thought of mutilating his opponents bodies until now. The neck of the viking was cut at a jagged angle; blood still spewing out of the rotting corpse. Now that he thinks about it, this whole battlefield stinks of death. It was then when he felt the acid from his stomach rush up into his throat and burn his insides. The vile liquid came up through his open mouth and his legs gave way as he spewed onto the corpse. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he tried vigorously to wipe them away when he heard the heavy footsteps of his commanding officer. He felt a strong armored hand grip his underarm and it yanked him up to his feet. “Stand up Warden, and pull yourself together.”

Holden Cross bent over to grab the Warden’s weapon and forced it into his chest. He bent over again to grab his helm, and handed it to him. “Put that back on I have a job for you.”

He began walking away before the Warden could speak but somehow he managed to move his legs and follow Holden. 

The Warden hadn’t realized it but he had fought his way to the edges of the battlefield. The closer he got to where the battle began the more bodies he found. He feared of looking at them. What if one of them was a friend he had made, or a mutilated body with a missing limb or two; a gutted stomach. He’d been so lost in what he might see he tripped over a body and fell onto the ground. He had closed his eyes tightly and put his arms out in front of him as pure instinct. When he opened his eyes again after a moment he saw a body that lay next to him. Both his and the corpse’s head were aligned, and with in the deceased face he saw bloodied holes all along the side of its face; a loose eyeball hanging out of its socket and dried blood around it, its mouth completely ajar, his jaw, definitely a victim of a Conqueror’s flail. The Warden nearly screamed and scrambled up onto his feet in a hurry, with his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt. Holden had watched the man struggle and despite his face being hidden behind a curtain of iron, he wasn't amused. “Are you okay?” Holden asked, he was beside himself but the Warden nodded anyway. 

“Right, I need you,” Holden reached over for the Warden’s sword and stabbed a body by his feet, “to make sure everyone here is dead.” He stabbed another body, this time it was a knight and he made a sound, his final sound before death. “I mean everyone. Apollyon has no time for the weak, so count yourself lucky.” He gave the Warden his sword and left him. 

The Warden wasn’t sure how long he stood there with his sword pressed against his chest, but he would have to move soon. Bodies littered the battlefield and they were all so close to each other and they all smelled. He groaned the moment he finally decided to move but he hadn’t walked far before he walked up to a corpse he needed to check. He felt his heart race and his legs suddenly grow heavy, as well as the sword in his hands. Why was it so hard to stab a body? The soul inhabiting it is long gone now so why is it so hard? He knew the answer, but saying it would make him a coward. He rose his sword with both hands high above his head, and thrust it downwards into the body. His legs gave way when he heard a loud cry and looked down to see a fear stricken face, convulsing in pain. The body uncontrollably twitched for a while as the man made pained sounds before finally passing. Warden stood quickly and nearly lost his balance as he did so. He wanted to finish and get this over with and quickly. Don’t look at the faces and block out their sounds. He told himself that every-time he rose his quivering hands and attempted to steady his shaking legs, to calm his beating heart. He was lucky and rather happy that so far he hadn’t killed a man or woman who was still dying. He felt as though he had finally gotten somewhat of a break and needn't worry too much about stabbing the already deceased. 

“Fuck this war, fuck Apollyon.” The Warden mumbled under his breath. He readied to stab another body and let out another sigh of relief when it didn’t twitch or yelp. He continued his ramblings as he walked. He’d been doing this for an hour and he was nearly done now, it was just the outskirts he had to deal with. As he walked towards the borders of the battlefield he found less and less bodies and he was thankful for that. He’d had to check all corners but at least the smell of death is light here, and not as heavy as it was before. As he moved to the other side of the field he thought about Holden’s words to him. ‘Count yourself lucky’, he said. Warden had let out a laugh at that. He wasn’t lucky nor was he strong enough to kill anyone here, and yet he did. Was it the wolf inside of him that took over, or was it still the sheep that had grown horns and learned how to buck its legs. It had to have been the sheep, because he still feels like running away. He doubted Apollyon would be able to spot his bluff on the battlefield. When he got his first and only kill in that battle he panicked. It felt as though he lost his head and something else in him took over and drove him to kill that viking the way he did, but he wasn’t a wolf then and he sure isn’t one now. 

For the third time that day he tripped. He thought he stumbled over a corpse, and yes he looked down to find one but it seemed dead. It had many slash wounds all over its body and though his face was hidden he assumed him to be dead. Warden started to walk away again, but he really did trip and he felt a rough grip on his ankle. He looked back to the corpse to see that it had grabbed him, and that this man was alive enough to just barely prop himself up. The Conqueror moaned as he tried to move, his grip loosening a bit; he was trying to speak and the Warden too scared to move - waited. 

“It’s me. I’m the first guy that said hello to you,” Conqueror coughed and gagged, he struggled to open the face piece to his helm, “I was the only other guy that sympathized with you.” He let out a chuckle. 

“What happened to you?” Warden found himself talking to the dead before he realized it. 

“Berserker got the best of me.” Conqueror wheezed out and flopped onto his back. He was still breathing but his breaths were shallow. A long period of silence was shared between the two, but rather than feel happy the Warden felt unholy amounts of dread. 

The Conqueror had came to the Warden first. The only soldier who was all smiles and laughed and joked about normal things. He hadn't had his head twisted into morbid ways of thinking and the Warden was thankful for that. They got along well and he wished that one of his most prominent fears weren’t true, but he wished this man were dead already so he wouldn’t have to kill him. Warden felt his throat tighten and his mouth go dry. Tears once again pricked at his eyes and this time he left them fall. He’d have to kill this man, and he was so kind to him. It almost made the Warden question his own feelings for once in his life, but he couldn’t dwell on that now; he was about to kill the only person he ever trusted, the only person he ever got along with, the only person who made his heart jump. 

Warden let out a choked sob and Conqueror heard it. He turned his head to see the other man push himself up; slowly and sluggishly grab his sword. Warden had his back turned but the constant shaking of his shoulders scared Conqueror. “Who put you up to this?”

No answer. Warden turned around and was completely crying in front of his friend. No more barriers. The worst part of this isn’t even killing him, it was knowing that even if he would’ve died with the wounds he had, Warden could have saved him. 

 

“Daubeny?” No answer.

 

“Mercy?” No answer. 

 

“Stone, Apollyon?” No answer. 

 

“Tell me. Was it Holden?” An answer. Warden nodded and he felt his knees buckle and he was suddenly on top of Conqueror. Thankful he hadn’t accidentally stabbed him before this was over. Holden had always been a pain in Warden’s ass. It was as if the Lawbringer knew he couldn’t handle the sight of blood and Holden wanted to tease him for it every-time. Warden was no knight and he tried and tried again to tell his father who wouldn’t listen, and he thought he could trust Holden. Instead Holden made sure to humiliate Warden everyday by putting him through trials he knew he couldn’t complete. 

“Of course he made you do this,” Conqueror brought a bloodied hand up to the Warden’s head, and cradled him into his chest. “Do me a favor, would you?” Warden nodded and turned his head to look at him. Warden was still surprised and relieved that the Conqueror's handsome face was undamaged. “Kill me please, I won’t make it and I know it’s hard for you but I want you to kill that bastard for making you do this. KILL HIM!” 

“I know you can do it. Don’t do it for me do it for yourself.” 

“OK, ok I’ll do it. I - uh I have -” 

“You got feelings for me, not only would you be dead for saying that, but I don’t think they’ll let you marry a corpse.” They both laughed and fell silent. Warden stood up and steadied himself and raised his sword. “Hey Warden,” Conqueror smiled up at him. “I got feelings for you too.” 

It was the only time Warden had ever smiled while he killed. He felt sick doing it but he knew why he was smiling and it wasn’t because he enjoyed killing. He was happy to hear that Conqueror felt the same, he just wished it were under different circumstances. His face was hot with anger and passion. He was thankful that his friend hadn’t made a sound and marched back to camp where Holden was. As much as he wanted to die by Conqueror’s side he wanted Holden dead just as much, and he was fortunate to have himself and Conqueror on the same page. 

The closer he got to camp the more he could feel his heart beating out of his chest. His walking was more and more unsteady and more jagged and erratic. He felt this ball of anger grow in his chest for months now; ever since the day his father told him he would was to be a knight. 

He entered the camp, and with a force he’d never thought he would ever have, screamed. “Holden Cross! HOLDEN CROSS!” The other soldiers stopped and looked at him. They watched Warden flail his arms around erratically and listened to his slurred speech. 

“Where are you? I need to speak with you Holden!” 

A soldier approached the Warden, careful not to move too quickly. But it didn’t seem to matter - that soldier met his fate at having his throat slit when he got to close. Everyone was up in arms then, he’d killed a man that was only trying to calm him and he killed him. The many archers grabbed their bows and pulled back their strings with the ends of their arrows. But being told what to do for so long had left them frozen in wait for permission to fire. 

Finally Holden stepped out of his tent with his poleaxe and approached the Warden slowly. He raised his hand at the archers to stand down and they did. “Warden?” 

The man in question had trouble breathing, he was shaking and twitching and unable to think properly. This isn’t what Conqueror wanted but he couldn’t have predicted that Warden would lose himself so quickly. “Fight me Holden, fight me!” He stood in a battle stance. Ready to kill his enemy; excited to kill his enemy. 

“So I take it that making sure bodies were dead drove you mad,” Holden sighed but did not loosen his grip on his own weapon, “I order you to stand down. I see that you may need a moment or two to calm down.”

“I don’t need a moment! Fight me!” Warden opened his stance in preparation for attack. He found himself charging at Holden with an overhand swing of his sword. It was parried and he found himself stunned as he got smacked in the face with the end of the Lawbringer’s pole. 

“Stand down Warden.” Holden circled Warden. He watched him hold his head in agony, but through the slits of his helm, Holden saw a fire in his eyes. 

“Fuck you!” Warden charged again, with two slashes at the right side of Holden. They landed and Warden tried his luck for another overhanded slash, but he found himself hitting air. Holden had dodged him, and while Warden was confused he used the end of his poleaxe to hoist him up and over his shoulder, and onto the ground. But the Warden got up, and he relentlessly bored into Holden’s side with every chance he got. Missed parries, weak attempts to block, and dodged every attempt to shove, until he missed the destined crushing counter. A heavy overhanded swing made by Holden came crashing down onto his helm, and shattered it. The momentum carried Warden on the ground and he lay there having lost his sword on impact. 

“Get up.” Holden’s voice was shaky. Warden opened his eyes to see that he had actually done damage to Holden Cross, but began to realize that it wasn’t enough. He was going to die here, but that didn’t scare him as much as he thought it would. He found himself standing up, unarmed and his head unprotected. He put his hands up in front of him, a Gladiator showed him how to box a few weeks ago, maybe he could still win. 

Warden closed his eyes, and loosened his muscles. When he opened them again he had began charging at Holden. Screaming he attempted jab after jab but they’d all missed - aside from the fist that Holden caught in his hand. A loud crack was heard, and the Warden’s wrist was broken. He felt himself get pulled into Holden and the Lawbringer kept him there with his giant hand that tightly held onto Warden’s jaw and the side of his head. He’d seen Holden do this before, he waited for everything to go dark in an instant as he struggled to break free but nothing happened. He stopped moving and stood there limp against Holden’s side waiting. 

“You put up a good fight, but it wasn’t good enough,” He stuck his poleaxe into the dirt below him, and raised his hand to ready the archers once again, “perhaps if you’ve done better I would have sent someone to find the Conqueror, I would’ve had you two buried together.” 

The Warden came back to life, but his struggling wasn’t going to break him free of this death grip no matter how hard he tried. He kicked and screamed as loud as he could, and he felt himself crying, and the pain he felt as Holden forced his jaw into a close so he couldn’t sob or scream any louder. Holden raised his arm down, and arrows were set free into the Warden. His stomach was stabbed by each arrow while others landed in the chainmail that wasn’t protected by his drapes or plates of armor. 

Warden felt his body slow and grow cold. He fell to his knees and barely had an arm out to catch him from face planting into the ground, but Holden had nudged his arm free of it’s purchase and he fell flat onto his chest and stomach - the arrows digging in deeper into his body as he sank onto the ground. He let out a dying breath one that almost mirrored the others dead screams on the battlefield. He tried one last time to show that he still had fight in him, he rose his head to look at Holden and he had managed it up to a considerable height but he felt the Lawbringer’s cold boot on the side of his head and forced his face back into the ground. Finally he saw darkness and his whole body went limp - The Warden had finally died. 

Holden Cross was busy sending some new recruits somewhere else in Ashfield to be dealt with by another commanding officer. One of those new recruits was much like the Warden in her thoughts about murder and this war. But she kept those to herself, but hoped that she would find someone who shared her views and maybe she could escape. She needed too, unless she wanted to end up like the Warden; he had a noose around his neck and was hanging from a tree for target practice. He’s been up there for weeks and they hadn’t taken his body down despite all the crows and vultures. She felt sick looking at it hang there and she felt even worse hearing all the others in the camp taint his memory and humiliate him long after death. She should’ve helped then, but she had been to scared to do anything. But she won’t be as foolish as him, she’ll keep his memory alive, but she will escape this time find some way to be free because much like him and his friend - she is no machine of war like everyone thinks her to be. She is a Peacekeeper no more. 


	2. The Fault of Conqueror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conqueror's experiences in meeting Warden, his budding feelings of love, and his time on the battlefield before his death with a unique and strange encounter. 
> 
> Mistakes are a natural part of being human, and seeing how it took me six months to write a fairly short chapter, there are probably a lot of mistakes that I will, of course, fix. -Zanpai/The_Ubisoft_Gamer

He did not know what drove him to speak to the Warden. It may have been because the man was alone and although no one was excited for war, they sure weren’t showing it. They all seemed excited for their next kill, even some of the “fresh meat” couldn’t wait to have their first kill in battle. Conqueror had travelled with a few others from his village and they talked about gutting and defileing their enemies bodies. Some of them were so graphic Conqueror had asked on many an occasion for them to quiet. So this man, this Warden was so different. 

He approached with a bit of joy in his step. He shouldn’t be so hopeful, what if he turned out to be like the others, a heartless shell of a human being. But he was right to be hopeful, the Warden had said hello to him, and he seemed shocked that the Conqueror wanted anything to do with him. They spoke until the sun had gone down, and one of the Captains had yelled at them to put up their tents. They didn’t make it a habit of getting into trouble together, but they were always so caught up in their conversations that they hadn’t realised they’d fallen behind in chores and were often reprimanded. It was worth it though because for once they weren’t around people with sick minds and ill intent. But he didn’t realize how dangerous it was too get so close to someone, and the Conqueror could sense something special in him. 

“Hey Warden, I got some ale from the storage unit!” Conqueror came around his and Warden’s tent in a hurry. 

“You aren’t serious are you?” Warden asked and his question was answered when he saw two bottles in his scarred hands. 

“You bastard!” Warden laughed as Conqueror threw him a bottle. They sat side by side, drinking away while Warden mostly spent his time looking over his shoulder in case of any unwanted onlookers. There wasn’t much point in savoring the bottles they had, all they could do was down as much as they could and hope their hangovers wouldn’t be noticeable. There weren’t any taverns nearby and The Blackstone Legion didn’t take too kindly to foolishness and unnecessary antics. As the months went by they grew closer and closer together. They were almost never seen apart and it didn’t go unnoticed, but no one made it known. 

It wasn’t until they reached the place where camp was supposed to be set did things change. Holden Cross had made a point to separate them by making them do seperate chores, and had them stationed at complete opposite sides of camp. It didn’t upset things too much; they were still together by nightfall and could chat for as long as they could. Every bit of time they spent together was worth it to Conqueror, but he couldn’t have known that, that was the only fault he made. There is no such thing as true love and it isn’t because people fall out of love or there was never any love to be had, it is because outside forces threaten it and Holden was an outside force bent on separating them. Warden had trusted Holden to go easy on him, he didn’t want to be here and he couldn’t stand the sight of blood much less kill someone and Holden used that against him. Conqueror was furious and wanted to take it up with Holden when Warden had told him what had happened, but he decided against it; it wasn’t worth getting them both in trouble. 

Warden was found crying in his tent. Conqueror had entered it to find him shaking and staring down at his blood stained hands, he rushed to his side immediately, “What happened? What did you do?” Conqueror’s questions weren’t accusatory but they were stern. 

Warden whimpered for a bit before holding on tightly to the Conqueror’s arm. “Holden told me that if I wanted to stay I had to prove it.”

“But you don’t want to stay… Was he going to let you leave?”

“Yes, but I wanted to stay here with you! I couldn’t leave here knowing that you’d be on the battlegrounds tomorrow - I WON’T LET YOU DIE BY YOURSELF -” 

Conqueror but his hand over Warden’s and waited. It was a long while before he spoke again, but when he did he explained why he was so broken. 

“Holden had me kill an animal, a helpless deer. It had gotten it’s leg stuck in mud and I wanted to help it, for fucks sake we already have enough food,” a breath and a choked sob, “he told me to spill its guts and cut off it’s head. To think of it as my enemy. I did it but then he had me go over to where we keep our prisoners and he tried to have me gut one of them, they were already dying!”  

“Did you?” 

NO, no. I started to, but my hands were shaking too much and I started to feel sick. I told him I couldn’t and Holden took my knife and my hand and forced me to gut him. I didn’t want to kill him but I did, I DID!” 

“You didn’t kill him. Your hand was forced it doesn’t count as murder.” Conqueror believed this, but at the same time he thought it to be a lie. But Warden is no murder and he would never do it unless his hand was forced literally or metaphoricaly. 

“And the animal, well I don’t see how that’s horrible but I do think cutting its head off was excessive.” 

“So I was overreacting then?” 

“No. That’s just how you are and I don’t shame you for it. I like you for you, so don’t you dare change.” Conqueror placed his hand on top of Warden’s head and rubbed it. Warden smiled and Conqueror smiled back. 

“Come on now, get some sleep.” 

Warden didn’t sleep that night until an hour before he was supposed to be up, but he didn’t show it. Perhaps he only needs an hour of sleep or maybe he can just function well without it. But Conqueror noticed the sweat that covered his body when he woke with him, it wasn’t hot and they weren’t close enough in their shared tent to sweat - but Conqueror let him be.

The shield that Conqueror held began to grow heavy. His left arm was tired and his right arm felt like it was going to fall off. He’d been swinging his flail and blocking all sorts of attacks and it began to wear down on him. He’d already nipped himself a few times in the leg trying to stop a swing halfway through; it’s a wonder anyone can master this weapon at all. He spotted a viking and charged at him seeing how his comrade was being overpowered. Conqueror caught the viking by surprise and the ball of his flail got stuck in the side of the man’s face. His eyeball popped out of the socket to which it belonged, and Conqueror found himself being drug down by his right side as the body fell. “I can’t believe it, shit,” He stuck his foot on top of the man’s torso and pulled his fail free of his flesh. He was glad no one had attacked him while he worked his weapon free but while he had time to breathe he felt a sense of dread and was lost. The weight of both his weapons suddenly felt heavy to the point where his arms went limp. He glanced down through the slits of his helm at his shield; stained with blood and fresh blood still dripping from it. He looked at his flail and pieces of ripped flesh still stuck to it. He thought it was all disgusting and he began to feel his knees weaken, but the thought of not being able to see Warden after all of this was done, was too much for him to bear. 

He got himself back together and was fortunate that he had in time. A viking tried to hit him with his hatchet and ended up getting it caught up within the chain of Conqueror’s flail. The viking struggled for a moment more before shouting and attempting to lunge, but they haven't gotten far before teeth were knocked out and their head bashed in by the Conqueror’s shield. 

It wasn’t long before Conqueror found himself nearing the outskirts of the battleground. Fewer people were out here. In some twisted way Conqueror though he’d be safer here. He doubted that anyone of the true warriors of this battle would go to the outskirts. 

He suddenly collapsed onto his knees. Breathing heavily as the weight of his armor and the strenuous exercise of simple survival got to him. He felt as though someone had knocked the wind out of him, or dropped an anvil on his chest. Each time he sucked in air he felt the weight get slowly lifted but never really leave. He placed his flail on the ground and placed a hand over his chest. He could feel his heartbeat; soft and quiet, but at the same time moving quickly. He had a problem of the lung that he failed to tell anyone and always hesitated to tell Warden. 

Vulnerable and in pain he felt his head swell and thought his eyes were going to burst from their sockets. The change in air had made his head dizzy and the pain from his lungs made him hold his chest dramatically as if suffering from a heart attack. He tried his best to calm his breathing, but it only made it worse as he panted like a hot dog. 

On all fours now he gripped at the mud and dirt and pulled at it as he tried his best to regain his composure. He thought of his only true love and unfortunately it made his breathing worse. Suffering from an asthma attack and now a panic attack; what if he never saw his beloved again? They never really said they loved one another, it wasn’t uncommon practice for soldiers to relieve pent up sexual frustrations, but that wasn’t the excuse Conqueror would use to describe his feelings. 

Dizzy and disoriented, he was unable to hear the footsteps rushing towards him. If, maybe, he turned in time and hadn’t dropped his shield in the mud he could’ve blocked the attack. He looked into the eyes of the Berserker who sunk his axe into Conqueror’s already tortured chest. In that moment Conqueror had never wanted to kill so impulsively and in such a horrible way. He fantasied for a brief second of the horrible things he would do, this Viking just ended any and all hope of seeing his love and it didn’t sit well with him. 

The hit Conqueror took did not send him on his back, and with the axe still stuck in his chainmail and slicing into his flesh, he stood and glared at the Viking. Intent on letting his flail drop on the other man's skull and watching his brain and blood spill from his head. But the worried and scared look the Viking had was unusual. The Viking had tears spilling from his eyes, and in shock he dropped his other axe and fidgeted with his arms. 

This Viking was told to do this and unwillingly. Immediately Conqueror felt empathy and with the strength he had left, pulled the axe from his chest. Blood spilled from his chest and he keeled over in pain, but he still held the axe in his hand and towards the Viking. Perplexed the Viking reached for the axe and helped the Conqueror lay on his back. 

The Viking holding Conqueror’s bloody hand and another hand over his bleeding chest. The Viking mourned his mistake but was baffled that the knight seemed forgiving and understanding. They stayed like that for a few moments, up until the Viking heard shouting in the distance and a horn; the sign for retreat. He looked at the Conqueror one last time before saying parting words in his native language and ran off in the distance of his hidden camp, tears still overflowing from his eyes. 

 

No more than an hour later would Conqueror be lucky enough to endure the pain he felt and see his love one last time, and watch Warden join him in a peaceful afterlife in an eternal sleep together.


End file.
